Page 8 of Chance's Choice
What the fuck is happening right now?
This is the question I ask myself as my best friend from high school breaks down in front of me. Weak resentment wars with my instinct to comfort him. It’s not even an instinct borne entirely of our former friendship, either. No: he’s a Little. He’s an upset Little and I’m a Daddy. He’s also someone I cared terribly deeply for before we parted ways, and I’ve never liked seeing him upset.
It is pure instinct driving me to step forward and pull him into my arms.
Kade becomes a limpet, clinging to me as he sobs. He babbles while I hold him, and I catch bits and pieces of the apology I’m assuming he wanted to make. Snippets like ‘I was a coward’ and ‘I know I hurt you’ and ‘you should hate me’ ring in my ears.
It’s all the closure I ever wanted from him, but it feels hollow now.
Yeah, twenty years ago I was so hurt that I had come out to my best friend, hoping that he’d do the same with me (because,hello, the fact that he’s gay was never going to be a surprise, even if it does make me a bit of an asshole for stereotyping), only to have him brush off my world-changing revelation to tell me that he was taking the job with my father that I had turned down only hours earlier.
I’d felt betrayed.
Not that he hadn’t felt ready to come out to me in return, because I understoodthat.
No, I felt betrayed because he knew how rocky my relationship with my dad was, and he was playing into my father’s manipulative tactics by accepting that job.
When I’d told him as much, he’d gotten defensive. We’d exchanged bitter words. He’d told me I was stupid to turn down my father’s connections. I’d told himhewas stupid if he thought Dad wasn’t just hiring him to get back at me. In hindsight, it’s stuff we could have talked through, but we didn’t have the maturity to do so. But back then I’d been left a child on the cusp of adulthood, without my parents’ supportandwithout my best friend. I’d seen his actions as him taking their side, and that had been that.
It had taken me a while to work through that, and at least a few years to let go completely. I thought that I’d forgiven when I’d tried to forget, but a few minutes ago, I still felt the pang of hurt that he’d turned a pivotal moment in my life -my coming out to my best friend, someone I trusted and loved- into a painful memory.
When I laid eyes on him, I felt like that eighteen-year-old version of myself again: lost, hurt, and unsure about where to go from there.
But I’ve never once hated Kaden McDonnell.
As I’ve aged, I’ve been able to look back on those memories through an adult’s eyes. Kade wasn’t like me. He didn’t have wealthy parents or a guaranteed career waiting for him. He’d grown up with just his mom, and she’d been vocal about him needing to move out and support himself once he was ‘an adult’. Growing up, he’d spent more time at my house than at his own, and the amount of pressure he’d put on himself to succeed in life, even at such a young age, is soul crushing in hindsight.
Yes, he’d hurt me. Yes, I’d been angry with him for a long time. And, yeah, I thought I’d never wanted to see him again for those reasons. But I can admit to myself that they were flimsy reasons, and hearing how much he’s been beating himself up over what happened between us puts a sour taste in my mouth. It’s been twenty years, and he’s been agonizing over it this whole time?
I moved on. I’ve lived a happy life for the last two decades. It sounds awful, but in the last ten years or so, I really haven’t even given that much thought to Kade and what happened when we graduated high school. It only ever comes up when my mom calls to beg me to try reconciling with my father – on my birthday, and at Christmas.
Seeing him in person was a shock, and my reaction to turn my back was a knee-jerk one, but as quickly as I was reminded of the hurt and embarrassment from our teenaged falling out, it’s becoming clear to me that he’s spent a lot more time punishing himself for what happened than I have done dwelling on it.
I’m rubbing Kade’s back and murmuring words of comfort before I even realize it’s happening. He fits in my arms as easily as he did when we were teenagers, though I don’t think he ever understood the way I’d felt about him back then. He was my best friend, and I was pretty sure I was in love with him.
You know, until shit went down and I never spoke to him again.
I guess that played a big part in how hurt I was by what happened, too. I mean, I came out to him and, not only did I feel betrayed, but I was also heartbroken that he didn’t seem to reciprocate my feelings.
The sound of footsteps approaching has me looking up and over the top of Kade’s blonde head, and I’m not surprised to see Charlie and Ted making their way over to us.
“Everything okay here?” Charlie asks, furrowing his brow as he looks from my face to Kade burrowed against my chest and then back up to my face again. Considering the way I reacted when I saw him, I understand his confusion.
Kade stiffens when he realizes that we have an audience, but I shush him and hold him in place.
“It’s fine,” I answer my friend, unsure of what else I could, or even should, say.
“Did you guys want to use one of the offices to talk?” Ted suggests gently. “It’s getting a bit chilly out here.”
And we’re making a scene in public. That’s not a great look for The Center, but they’re kind enough not to mention that.
“Yeah,” I agree, still a bit lost as to what the actual fuck is happening, “that’d be great.”
“You can use the office I share with Gabe,” Ted says. He’s recently volunteered pro bono hours to The Center and works here every other Wednesday. Gabe, a social worker, was kind enough to share his space with our lawyer friend. “The couch in there is pretty cozy. Much better than hanging around out here.”
Giving Kade a squeeze, I tell Ted, “That sounds great. Lead the way.” Then I gently push my former best friend away and, with my hand on the small of his back, guide him to follow behind my friends.
He mutters a croaky “Thank you” to Ted and Charlie as they get us settled in the office. It is decorated in neutral tones, with a worn, solid timber desk and chair along one wall, and a squishy brown couch along another. Next to the couch, there’s a large potted plant of some kind. A ficus maybe? I have no idea, but London would know. I doubt I’ll remember or care enough to ask him, but the greenery adds a brightness to the space.
